


It didn't used to be this way

by southernfrost



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: But not today, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Gen, ManDadlorian, No Romance, Parent-Child Relationship, Talking to Babies, din deserves a break, snowy and sick and sad and happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:41:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22415653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/southernfrost/pseuds/southernfrost
Summary: Din is still recovering from Nevarro and is coming to terms with his newly-found fatherhood. While tracking down a lead on information about these sorcerers, he has to come to terms with his traumatic past as well as his future.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 142





	1. Preparation

The engines geared down, the exhaust spray and landing gear deployed, all to bring the _Razor Crest_ to the surface of the mountain’s clearing with the flip of a couple dozen buttons and switches. The ship settled in with a soft thump instead of the usual hard landing, thanks in no small part to the thick blanket of snow. Din was trying his best to temper his nerves as he continued his familiar routine of stabilizing solar capacitors and turning on ground protocols. Greef Carga had found some interesting intel on a former Jedi temple from before the Empire hidden in the snow-capped peaks of Saloscant. This planet was temperate enough for colonization, but was in the furthest reaches of the known galaxies and had been all but abandoned by the powers that be, along with the temple Din sought to find. While it was good to know he _probably_ wasn’t going to come across any sorcerers, there was always the chance of finding some pocket of outlaws. That, and the bounty hunter fancied himself more attuned to dryer, warmer climates.

A white cloud flew up in puffs and swirls of fresh powder from beneath the _Crest_. The child -- his child, he supposed with a strange feeling in his gut -- climbed from Din’s lap to the dashboard in speechless awe. He made his way to the glass and looked down at the disheveled snow beneath the ship. The baby chirped and looked back at Din with gleefully bright eyes and a perk to his ears.

The Mandalorian couldn’t help the smile creeping on his face. The kid was too cute when he was excited. “Pretty, isn’t it? Its snow.”

The child pressed his small, three-fingered hand against the window for a moment but flinched from the cold. He pointed outside with an accusatory _augh_.

“Snow is kind of like rain, but frozen. You can even eat it,” Din explained with a sad smile, feeling wistful. He had old memories of carelessly playing in snow on his planet of birth, but those memories were vague and bittersweet. With a soft shake of his head, he blocked those memories out. They didn’t do him any good, but lately with the kid, he couldn’t help but recall bits and pieces of a happier little boy’s childhood.

The child looked back at him with a small droop in his ears, as if he could feel his caretaker’s thoughts. 

“Don’t look at me like that, everything’s fine. Look at _this_.” Din leaned over the dashboard, drawing a simple smiling face into the condensation on the window with a gloved hand. The child giggled, dragging his tiny fingers on the glass to draw lovely little lines.

After a few more moments, the Mandalorian held his hands out to the baby, waving for the little one to come closer with a quick movement of his gloved finger. The child excitedly waddled over and into his arms. “It’s time to go, so let’s bundle you up.”

Din began to wander around the various corners and crevices of the Razor Crest with the child on his hip, rummaging for some of his old clothes that he hadn’t at some point used to soak up engine oil. The child managed to slipped away to return to the cockpit and its windows, but upon his bounty hunter father finding the asset (read: a worn, but incredibly soft, old cloak), the child was quickly scooped up again. 

An extended trip in the outdoors was going to require some prep and creativity, as far as getting this 50-year-old infant ready to go. As they had flown in, Din had seen some stony ruins high in the mountains, more than likely this Jedi temple, which was maybe a half-day’s hike away from where he was able to find a suitable landing place for the ship. Climbing a mountain to a surely abandoned and scavenged place to search for magic artifacts or some sort of clue, with a baby no less, was going to be no simple feat for the Mandalorian, but on top of it all: he was definitely catching a cold. Din could feel the tiredness and sinus pressure looming, and he still hadn’t felt 100% since he almost died on Nevarro. He didn’t have the luxury of sick time, however. He had to find the home of his foundling or train the child to maturity himself, either which way would benefit from him figuring out how the basics of taking care of a 50-year-old infant with supernatural powers.

Din took a step back and inspected his handiwork: the child tightly bound as if he were a ronto wrap, with only his nose and eyes visible. The Mandalorian allowed himself a broad smile from the confines of his helmet as he held the baby in the crook of his arm. He tapped the child’s little wrinkled nose lovingly with a gloved finger. “You can’t get away from me now.” 

The child let out a meek protest but was not upset. The child liked a lot of things, his dad most of all.

The Mandalorian set the baby down for a quick moment to double check all of his gear. A tug on his pauldrons, securing his chest plate, a jiggle on his old cuisse, readjustment of his vambraces. A swift run through his jetpack, various tools and weaponry, and especially his munitions. Even though Din could feel the perspiration on his brow, he pinched the cloth around his elbow to check that it was indeed the thick woolen suit. Finally, he inspected the small messenger pack for the proper amount of rations and miscellaneous necessities for the little one before slinging it over his shoulder and picking up the baby once more.

As the _Razor Crest_ ’s side bay opened, the cold mountain air sucked out all the warmth from what, at least in Din’s mind, was usually his cozy and warm home. He sighed deeply in dread, looking down at the child in his arms for comfort as he began his journey up the mountain.


	2. Struggle

He didn’t like it at first, but the feeling of being bound up so tight was better than any other. The soft cloth covered him from the top of his big head all the way to his little toes, except for his face, and smelled  _ just _ like his dad. The air was so very very cold, but the cold face combined with his cozy warm body felt nice, so that was okay. The child could also feel his dad’s heartbeat through his big strong arms and on the side of his torso, where the bounty hunter had so lovingly tucked him. The smell of musty blaster powder and bitter iron that surrounded him made the child feel… good. He decided to close his eyes and sleep, having the most wonderful dreams of frogs.

Meanwhile, the Mandalorian was gasping for fresh air from within the stuffy confines of his helmet and sucking in his own snot as it dripped out of his nose. He couldn’t breathe through his nostrils anymore, and there’s no way he could get enough oxygen by doing anything but painfully wheezing. The glass of his visor was fogged and covered in whatever he was sneezing out. If he ever gave a thought to how he looked -- which was rare -- he usually figured he looked intimidating and (hopefully) good. In this moment, he felt like a complete mess.

Din whined pathetically to himself as he continued to drag his feet, one beleagueredly after the other, up what he believed to be a path. But how could he know where to go when  _ everything _ was covered in snow? His jetpack had run out of fuel pretty quickly after the first hour or so of continuous use, and so it was just more weight pulling Din down. It had saved him some walking time surely, but not enough. At some point, the clouds and their snow flurries cleared and the sky had turned a deep dark purple. Three tiny moons had come up, illuminating the snow in a violet hue. He couldn’t remember how long the day and night cycle on this planet was, and he could hardly think enough to remember why it mattered. The baby was still asleep in the crook of his arm, which was a miracle. He had to switch the kid over to the other arm almost constantly at this point as both were feeling heavier and heavier. If Din had to, he wasn’t sure he could even raise his blaster.

His dragging feet caught on something large underneath the snow and down he went, just barely saving himself from falling on top of the child. Large dark eyes shot open with a quizzical shout from the baby. Din was barely holding himself up on his knees and one hand dug deep into the snow, the other arm curled around the child. He gently set the little bundle down for a moment while he hovered above, using the opportunity to take a break. The only sounds from the entire mountainside were the ragged breaths coming out of the Mandalorian’s voice modulator. 

“Sorry, I-I…” He hadn’t said a word since daylight, and despite his mind being foggy, he was shocked with how terrible he sounded. Din exhaled and fell onto his side dramatically, the child only a few inches away from his chest. The little one’s large dark eyes followed him quietly. He couldn’t help but smile at his absurdity. 

“I hope,” he said between sniffs, “you’re having fun.” 

The child didn’t respond.

Din crudely pushed his helmet off with one hand, as the other was pinned under his body, and dug his bare head into the snow. He pulled more from around the child onto his snotty face, up his clogged nose, through his greasy hair, and into his dry mouth. Despite his obvious personal and cultural attachments to his signature beskar headwear, it was truly blissful to feel the snow on his feverish skin. He sneezed and relished the freedom of watching all the nastiness float away in the mountain breeze instead of breathing it back in.

The child watched closely as Din scrubbed his face and hair with snow. He had started to see the Mandalorian without the helmet only recently. It had taken the child a few nights of confused crying to finally understand that  _ nice metal dad _ and the  _ tan hairy face _ were the same person. The baby still felt uneasy though, since the man never had the helmet off for very long besides sleeping, and he always seemed terribly nervous about it. His adoptive father looked pretty happy this time though... The child cooed for attention. 

The Mandalorian ruffled through his hair to get the snow out while eyeing the kid. 

With his free hand, he made a rough snowball and set it on the baby’s chest with a smirk to see what he would do. At first the child giggled, but he began to whine as he couldn’t bite it or pick it up. Din pinched some snow between his fingers for the kid to eat. However, the child was adamant, presumably about touching it himself with his constrained little hands.

Din shook his head. “Sorry, no.” He felt uneasy about unwrapping the child in this wintry hell. There were so many things that could go wrong, and the kid was definitely not wearing proper cold-weather attire. Din continued to shake his head  _ no _ as he dragged the underside of his arm against his wet nose.

The child wasn’t listening and continued to escalate the whining fit as he tried to violently wriggle out of his warm cocoon prison.

“Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay,” the Mandalorian murmured, pulling the child closer in an attempt to calm him. The baby began to cry in frustration, shaking and wheezing as it sobbed. Din felt his heart lurch watching the poor little thing cry so hard. 

“... Alright, alright, here,” he spoke as calmly as he could in his defeat, unraveling the cloak to the point where it was simply a loose blanket. The child softened slightly but was worked up beyond the point of being satiated by touching the snowball. The bounty hunter slumped back into the snow, the child still shaking and crying as it laid on his beskar chestplate.

Din had one more idea, but… It was something he hadn’t done in a long time. Intuition, or something else deep inside of him, told him he needed to. That it would help, that it was natural. It wasn’t natural for a Mandalorian, though.

No matter what was natural or not, Din couldn’t bear to see the child crying like this. He pulled the bundle towards his neck for a tight embrace and quickly kissed the baby’s forehead. The child suddenly went silent as the bounty hunter pulled a few inches away, both of them in shock. 

Din pulled the corners of his mouth apart in nervous terror, thinking that he surely did something wrong. The baby’s eyes, still brimming with tears, were unflinchingly glued to the Mandalorian’s. The child made a short, questioning babble, emphasizing the end with a long blink. 

“Wh… What does that  _ mean _ ?” Din whispered honestly, tearing up himself.

The child cooed expectantly. 

Din paused in doubt, before craning down slightly to give the child another forehead kiss. He held onto this one for longer by some force of instinct, and the baby hummed. 

The Mandalorian pulled away again and saw the baby’s eyes flutter happily. He set his head back in the snow with a blank expression on his face. The child chirped and began to bat at the snow with tiny fists.

After a few moments of reflecting on what he’d just done, Din was still speechless. He brought a trembling hand to his own face and brushed lightly over his nose and lips, fingers finding their way to pick at the stubble on his jawline. He hadn’t kissed or been kissed since that morning, so many years ago, right before his parents… Outside of the basement doors, right there. The last time he’d ever seen them, the last time he... Din dug his palms into his eyes, trying to physically block out the images and feelings that were rushing back to him.

“No, no no, noo…,” he whispered to himself. His eyes watered and the tightness in his chest felt like it could burst. 

“Nope,” the bounty hunter said weakly, but with a strong resolve, as he sat up suddenly. “We’re moving on.”

The child yelped as the Mandalorian haphazardly re-wrapped him, albeit not as tightly as before. Din wiped the inside of his helmet clean with some snow and his cloak. He glanced down at the small green face looking up at him from the crook of his elbow, and then back to the helmet. He squeezed his eyes shut, tight enough so that he could hear the strain in his muscles and see only white flashes. Din quickly gave the child one last quick peck on the forehead before opening his tired eyes and donning his beskar once more.


	3. Release

Weather moves in without warning at these altitudes. What was once a freezing, but bright, cloudless night became a dark, snowy one with snowflakes the size of five-hundred credit ingots. The beam from Din’s helmet light lit up the snow like stars, crashing and blowing every which way against him as he tried to stay strong. His focus kept him from succumbing to the weariness of his feverish body or the memories of the past that dug at the back of his mind. It had only been another fifteen or twenty minutes since the clan of two had resumed their journey up the mountain when they came upon the entrance of the temple ruins.

The Mandalorian pressed his back against the frozen stone wall that circled the area, taking a moment to prepare himself for whatever he may find inside. He pulled up on the cloth covering the child’s face to find it sleeping peacefully. He smiled softly and sighed, hoping that nothing he was about to do would wake his little one.

Din entered the temple grounds defensively, scanning the area with his blaster and the child held closely to his side. He didn’t see any heat signatures on his visor amongst the village surrounding the temple itself, but perhaps he would find something of interest inside what structures remained. He approached one of the huts that still had a semi-intact thatch roof, finding a shelf with various bits of pottery and paper scraps, wicker baskets, and a burned charcoal pit on the ground. In the roofless hut next door, he found a loom and a half-finished robe that had been bleached by time and exposure. The village was quiet and unmoving save for fluttering crystals and the crunch of snow under his boots, but to Din, that silence was overwhelming. The empty doorways left ajar, the bowls forgotten on tables with what may have once been filled with a meal untouched, the fallen mitten waiting for a hand to keep warm. What happened here seemed all too familiar, too much like his worst dreams. It was what was left behind after something terrible.

He holstered his blaster and sprinted towards the temple in the center of all the ruins of these people’s -- of Din’s and his parents’ -- once peaceful lives. He could nearly hear the murmurs, the clinking of metal tools, the sizzle of grills, the soft babble of discussions, the banality and domesticity of the souls that once called this place home. And now it was cursed and empty, devoid of all life and filled with a terrible silence. It was everything he always feared his old home had become. A cold reminder of thousands of tears, stuck in a place that time left behind and was doomed to never be happy again. The Mandalorian had assumed this fate, all but resigned himself to bear the burden of being the one who had to carry these painful memories to his grave. 

His run slowed before he stopped completely on the stairs leading to the temple proper, and stood still. “I can’t keep doing this,” he told himself softly under his breath. He turned around to face the ruined village and sat on the stair steps. “I can’t,” he repeated, taking a moment to inhale... and exhale.

Tears burned down Din’s cheeks as he allowed his memories to play out in his mind’s eye as he looked over the village before him. The good memories, of early mornings when he wanted to play with the other children but his mother made him eat breakfast first. Memories of the sweet cadence of his mother’s voice when she sang to him in the bath. Of him laughing and sitting on his father’s shoulders as they shopped at the bazaar. But also, the bad memories… memories of the bazaar aflame and besieged. The memory of his parent’s tearful goodbyes. These memories, good and bad, made him feel even worse, as he couldn’t even fully remember what his parents looked like anymore. Just hazy figures in blood red clothes, shutting him inside the cellar doors.

Letting the past wash over him and drown him in its weight and loss and sorrow felt terrible, but… Din also felt better, in a way, to let it out. The child awoke to find himself tucked underneath his father’s chin, with trembling arms wrapped tightly around him. He let out a squeak and crawled closer into the Mandalorian’s scarf.

“I’m sorry,” Din whispered as he pulled the child away from his neck and down into his lap. The helmet once again came off, but only briefly so that he could dry his cheeks and wipe his nose. The child wriggled his arms free from the loose cloth, waving to be picked up. Din smiled as he rubbed his tender eyes. He leaned down to kiss the child’s nose, letting his thoughts run free, before replacing his helmet and obliging the child’s desire.

The child giggled blissfully, lovingly looking up at the Mandalorian as the mythosaur pendant poked out of the cloth around his neck. Little green hands opened and closed expectantly.

“Anything for you,” Din said softly as he pulled the infant close and stood back up, facing away from the village. He tucked the child back into his left shoulder, turning his head to the side as an extra support as they ascended the stairs to the temple. The child purred and began to babble excitedly. 

Din smiled playfully, his smile tugging at his still raw eyes. “Oh, you don’t say?”

The temple’s engraved wooden doors were on the floor and splintered in the middle, as if they’d been rammed down. The Mandalorian carefully stepped over the carved faces of stalwart protectors and the swirls of a written language he had never seen before, aiming his blaster and headlamp into the depths of the darkness ahead. The temple was pitch black inside, save the one beam of light. The child’s continued babbles echoed off the ceilings above, which the bounty hunter noticed were covered in an intricate web of peeling paint.

“Is there anyone here?” Din asked, his modulated voice rippling off the stone walls again and again. He knew it was unlikely, as there still weren’t any heat signatures, but there could always be droids. 

After a few moments of silence, he holstered his blaster and began to rifle through a nearby bookshelf. Every book, every page, _everything_ was written in this unfamiliar language. The font was like water, squiggly lines or swirls flowing from one line to the next. Din searched through every book for something he could recognize: a different language, a picture, a doodle in the margins, anything. He found nothing on every bookshelf, table, and altar.

“Seriously?” Din felt his temper rising and he suppressed the urge to turn one of the old wooden tables into a bonfire with a simple flick of his wrist.

Having cleared the main temple area, he walked along the edges, brushing his free hand against the walls. The cold from the stone seeped into his glove, until, it suddenly didn’t. Din backtracked, realizing that part of the stone wall was painted wood, with a small metal handle near the floor, and was covered in the same peeling pattern as the ceiling. This was the first closed door he’d seen in this whole cursed place and it set him on edge.

The bounty hunter needed both of his hands, one to open the door and one for his blaster, but he didn’t want to risk setting the child down in the cold pitch blackness of the temple. Din pulled the full length of his cloak over his shoulder, wrapping the child in it and then tucking the remainder snugly in his tool belt. Using a rope from his small messenger sack, he secured the make-shift baby sling to his beskar chestplate.

“You good?” he whispered. 

The child cooed softly. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Din crouched down to the metal handle, his finger on the trigger of his blaster. He took in a deep breath before pulling up on the handle, -- harder than he expected he’d have to -- which caused the wooden panel to swung up wildly. 

A dark figure came forward out of the opening, seeming to lunge at Din. The Mandalorian’s instincts pulled him sideways, to protect the child strapped to his chest, and he didn’t hesitate to repay the figure in equal violence with his blaster. A familiar red flash momentarily filled the room with light. The body fell down to the floor and silence returned.

Immediately, Din knew that this was a corpse, and quickly turned the baby around in the sling so that it was facing his chest. The corpse was of a human woman, with bluish-gray skin and far too gaunt to have been alive anytime recently. She was wearing a robe similar to the unfinished one he’d seen earlier, except this one was brown and untouched by the elements behind the safety of this faux wall.

He turned his attention to the mysterious hidden cove. However, it was nothing more than a small closet with some empty jugs and pots, nothing more.

“Of course,” Din sighed.

The bounty hunter came back to the corpse, which had fallen face down after he’d shot her. It was curious, these were the only remains he’d seen. Although, with animal scavengers and the thick blanket of snow covering everything, he really couldn’t be surprised. He grabbed her stiff shoulders and flipped the corpse over. He was taken aback by how… alive she looked, besides the color of her skin. Her jet black hair still looked so soft and her features were frozen by the cold; her eyes squeezed shut and her mouth in a grimace as her lips contracted over her teeth. He noticed two blaster shots: one from him just now on her neck, and the one that killed her however many years ago on her stomach. Din wondered if his own corpse may have been similarly discovered in that cellar years later, in some alternate timeline where the Mandalorians hadn’t saved him from the super battle droid.

He was pulled away from his thoughts by the woman’s hands, frozen around what she clutched onto in her last moments. Her right hand held a metal tube, a grip of sorts, that had a couple buttons and a small blue glowing crystal on the inside. Din wasn’t quite sure what it was, but he pried the corpse’s fingers off the tube regardless. He carefully stowed it away into his messenger pack next to a few books he saved, one of the many with the water-like writing. He could figure out what it all meant later.

Her left hand held a crumpled piece of paper, yellowed by time and the decay of her flesh. The Mandalorian carefully removed the paper and opened it. “Would you look at that,” he said to himself, finding the words on the page were written in Basic.

_Margraeth, my sweetling. They are coming. Good-bye._

_May the Force be with you._

_All my love, L_

Din read over the note again and again, mildly interested in the questions it brought but frustrated with its lack of answers or, frankly, its relevance to what he’d come here to find. Whoever wrote this, _L_ he supposed, knew what fate was coming for this temple. _L_ knew they were all going to die. How? And who were _They_ , where were they coming from? What was this _Force_? But most importantly, to Din at least, did all of these Jedi sorcerers really leave nothing behind but ruins and rubble, except for books in a dead language and this one little meaningless scrap of paper? He read the note one last time, searching for some kind of clue that he wasn’t going to find, before folding it back up carefully and tucking it into one of the water books.

A deep sigh escaped him, seeming to come from his very soul. Din was so very tired, and wholly discouraged. This was his first non-bounty hunting mission, where the priority was his foundling, and he felt that it had all failed miserably. He shivered in the cold dampness of the temple and sneezed. The child chirped in response, appearing to be cozy and warm. Unfortunately, the beskar chestplate between them prevented the Mandalorian from sharing in that warmth. 

Din glanced back down at the woman’s corpse, before he walked back out towards the village. His thoughts stayed on her, though. The remains of Margraeth, an enemy Jedi sorcerer who died of a blaster wound from some unknown _They_ , who surely had powers like those wielded by his foundling. The power which continued to be a mystery, since not one damned thing in these frozen ruins had given him anyth --

“The power…” he said aloud, trying to connect his thoughts. He found a fairly intact hut, with a roof and functional doors and windows. Once inside, gloved fingers worked at the knots in the rope securing the child to his chest. Din pulled the baby out, holding it in front of his helmet in the light to gauge his responses. 

“ _They_ are coming,” Din said with a straight face. 

The child didn’t respond really, just suckled on his own finger.

“May the _Force_ be with you.” 

The child blew a raspberry and giggled, perking his ears.

“May the _Force_ be with you?” Din repeated, his voice going up an octave at the end.

The child didn’t appear to respond with any certainty, continuing to blow raspberries.

The Mandalorian sighed in defeat. He thought he was onto something, but there was really no way to be sure. And in any case, his foundling did best when there are few expectations. Trying to elicit some omniscient response from a magic baby was just foolish, but Din wasn’t keeping up with appearances, so what did it matter? 

The hut was made suitable for their overnight stay with a few paddings of the drafty windows and doors, and a nice fire. The water and food rations he had taken along were finished off with a satisfactory burp from father and son. It was all Din could do to not let his mind drift to who used to live here or the last time the fire pit had been used. After taking the empty jetpack off his back, he settled in for an uneasy bout of sleep on the cold dirt floor with the child cooing softly from the bed of cloaks and cloths beside him.

Only a handful of hours later, the bright daylight and its even brighter reflections off of the snow kept Din from getting any more rest, even if he’d wanted it. The trek down the mountain was impressively easier than going up, with the Mandalorian and his sleeping charge making it back to the _Razor Crest_ just at midday.

“Ohhh,” Din hummed, glad to see that nothing had happened to his ship. For once.

After closing the cargo bay doors, Din jumped up to the cockpit and turned on the auxiliary solar generator for lights and to heat the cabin space up. He had meant to turn right around towards the _Crest_ ’s small kitchen, but noticed a few blinking communication lights. He sighed, setting the child down in his regular spot, so that he could catch up.

A few flicks of switches on the comm panel, and he was connected with whoever wanted to talk to him so badly.

“Mando?” asked a familiar voice.

“Greef,” Din responded blankly, but kindly.

“Ah, Mando, finally! I found another lead on this Jedi business. Why don’t you come back to Nevarro and we can talk details?”

Din rubbed the back of his neck while he mulled over his words, slowly turning left in his seat towards the child. “Right now?”

“Well, sure, why not? You can also come see our progress in rebuilding the guild! Cara has some fun things to show you from the scavenging she’s been doing.”

“But I…” Din trailed off as he continued to look at his foundling, feeling equally tired but content. “I can come back in a few days, probably a week.”

“What?” Greef exclaimed, which caused the child to wake. The baby immediately saw that they were back home and reached his arms out, bubbly and happy and pure. “Don’t you go disappearing on me again. We just --”

Din smiled underneath his helmet, holding his finger over the power button for his communication feeds. “Sorry, gotta go. Something came up.”


End file.
